Black Lagoon - Michael Bay version
by 13en-writes-all
Summary: I always wondered what it would look like if Black Lagoon was created by Michael Bay... Maybe this will answer that. I wrote this part in my style, but it is definitely inspired by many of Michael Bay's works such as Bad Boys and Transformers. Unexpected, over the top action. Rated M for language, violence, and later chapters ;-)


**Part 1 – Kidnap**

The sharp buzzing of his electric alarm clock, the feeling of the cloth sheets that felt like sandpaper against his skin, and that dainty pillow he hated but had to put up with until the next payday.

Rokuro Okajima, known as 'Rock' to his coworkers sat up in bed and switched off the alarm.

As usual, he thought of calling in sick because he really didn't want to go to work with the assholes who treated him lower than a piece of dirt that only served the purpose to annoy them.

Asahi Industries was the most depressing, lowly, annoying place to work as a salaryman.

His boss was a jackass who would constantly do everything he could to single Rock out or to abuse him out of sheer boredom.

"It's not like I could do anything about it," is the exact words that crossed Rock's mind as he pulled himself into his wheelchair.

A car wreck that happened when he was nineteen left him paralyzed from the waist down and ruined his chances to become a cop, that's what he told his coworkers every day at Asahi Industries. His boss loved to have him remind his coworkers at every chance he gets because he knew that it would get a kick out of everyone in the office.

Rock chose his attire for the day, a pair of black shoes, some grey slacks, a white button-up shirt, and a black tie.

He quickly put his shoes on and wheeled himself out the door to grab his briefcase, put it in his lap, and wheeled himself out the door, making sure to lock it on the way out.

He hated eating breakfast, for some reason he always felt queasy whenever he first woke up, and every time he went to eat anything he always had to force himself to swallow it because he felt like if he swallowed it he would throw up.

It was the same routine every day since he came to Japan, he wheeled himself to the elevator, took it down to the second floor, said hello to the front-desk agent, and wheeled himself down the street to catch the 8:30 A.M. bus to his office.

There were two people at the bus stop that day, Rock knew them well: the thirty-two-year-old church-going father of three whose car was in the shop with transmission problems that required a three-week overhaul and the twenty-six-year-old blonde haired exchange student from America who kept her hair tied back in a pony-tail.

As Rock wheeled himself up to the stop, the man looked over at him, "Morning Rock," he said.

"Charlie," Rock said.

"Paper," he asked as he held out the morning paper.

"Sure," Rock said as he took it from his hands.

The market jumped two points a few hours ago which would make his boss happy, but that only meant that he would have to give everyone a raise in their paychecks.

As the bus pulled up to the stop, Rock wheeled himself up to the ramp, and onto the bus while the two other bus stop occupants climbed on board.

A quick swipe of his bus pass, wheel himself to the handicap area at the back of the bus, lock himself in, and all he had to do was read the newspaper until he arrived at his office.

It seemed that Duncan was on the bus today, the two of them had had many conversations over the past few months despite the fact that they had previously ignored each other for years.

"Morning Rock," Duncan said.

"Duncan," Rock said, "How're the kids?"

"Alright," Duncan said as he kept reading _his_ newspaper, "Jacob recently made a perfect score on his test."

"Which one was that," Rock asked, "The math test or the biology test?"

"The history test," Duncan said.

"Good," Rock said as he turned the page, "Kid's gotta know about history."

"You got that right Rock," Duncan said, "Especially when you consider Japan's history."

"Yep," Rock said.

"How's your work been going," Duncan asked.

"Same as always," Rock said.

"Shitty," Duncan asked.

"Yep," Rock said, "Shitty boss, shitty hours, shitty coworkers, shitty workspace, and shitty position."

"I'm sure it'll get better for you," Duncan said, "After all, you never know what might happen tomorrow."

"Indeed," Rock said.

"Now arriving at stop 11-B," the automated voice said over the speaker.

"That's my stop," Rock said as he folded his newspaper, put it away, and wheeled himself over to the ramp.

As he wheeled himself down the street, he saw one of his coworkers arriving, Michael, one of the ones that paid him no mind until it was time to come and pick up his paycheck.

Two years he bought that Porsche 911 Carrera back when it was new and was thinking about trading it in for a new one.

Rock would have killed to drive that just once, but he couldn't.

He still remembered his father's shop: that little shop tucked away in the corner of Chicago: a place he didn't fit in either because he didn't have the accent that everyone else was speaking, because he was from a Japanese family, and because while everyone else's father was a lawyer or a businessman, his was a mechanic.

On the walls of his father's shop were various references to the old days when everything in Detroit was made by hand, and everything was done with care.

His father always loved working with his hands, he never understood why Rock didn't want to take over the shop, but then again he did once chop off the tip of his finger because he didn't realize that he needed to keep the blade down when he was cutting pipe.

As he wheeled himself into the office, the receptionist looked up to see him, "Good morning wheels," she said.

"Morning Rebecca," Rock said as he wheeled past her.

As he approached the elevator, many of the people inside looked and laughed as the door closed on him.

He cursed under his breath and wheeled over to the second elevator where upon pressing the button, he found himself staring at an empty elevator.

After wheeling himself in and pressing the button he was greeted by a song he hated more than anything, Meghan Trainor's _All About That Bass_ , the way that woman sang that song was a pain in Rock's eardrums, and he wanted to claw his eardrums out whenever he heard it.

As the elevator opened on his floor, and he wheeled himself out of the elevator, and onto his floor.

As he entered his cubical, his boss walked up to Rock, "Hello there," Department Chief Kageyama said as he walked up to Rock's cubical.

"Morning boss," Rock said as he typed away at his keyboard.

"The market jumped two points today," Kageyama said, "And six on our company."

"Great," Rock said.

"You know what that means," Kageyama asked.

"Another twenty thousand yen on everybody else's paycheck," Rock asked.

"Yep," Kageyama said, "And a business trip."

"Where is everyone going," Rock asked.

"We're going to take my yacht on a little trip around the South China Sea," Kageyama said.

"Great," Rock said, thinking, "Now you can be murdered by pirates, and I don't have to deal with you from now on."

"Be sure to be at the docks by 8:30 A.M. Tomorrow," Kageyama said.

"I'm sorry sir," Rock asked as he turned towards his boss.

"Didn't you say you know celestial navigation," Kageyama asked.

"Yes," Rock said, "But what does that have to do with anything?"

"Because," Kageyama said, "We need a navigator. You're going to be on the boat as our navigator/waiter."

"Which docks," Rock asked.

"Just be on the roof by 8:30," Kageyama said.

"Yes sir," Rock said.

As Kageyama walked over, Rock seriously wanted to pick up the glass orb on his desk, and chuck it as hard as he could at his boss's head.

He knew that would be bad for two things: his job & his health.

Rock just sat back at his desk and pulled out one of the only things that could calm his nerves: a nice Camel Crush King Cigarette.

 _The next day_ …

When Rock arrived at the office, he found out what his boss was talking about: there was an Agusta A 119 Koala on the roof, and his boss was waiting inside.

"Welcome aboard," Kageyama said as he ushered Rock inside, Rock wheeled himself up to the helicopter, and placed his duffle bag inside only for his boss to shove it back out, "Sorry."

Rock huffed, picked up his bag, hoisted himself into the chopper, heaved his wheelchair inside, and then crawled over to the empty seat.

As the chopper door closed, Kageyama sat back and fell asleep as Rock looked out the window to see the city go by.

Several hours later, they arrived at the multi-room yacht that you could see some kind of millionaire living on.

When they landed Rock stepped out, put his wheelchair on the ground only for Kageyama to bump into him, and deliberately push his wheelchair away.

Rock crawled over to his wheelchair and hoisted himself into the chair.

"Your room is on the bottom floor, down the hall going right, and on the left," Kageyama said.

Rock wheeled himself inside the room, into the elevator, and headed down the hallway surprised at how nice his boss was being.

His own room? That was suspiciously nice. That feeling was soon crushed as he opened the door to reveal that his boss had set him up with an air mattress in the laundry room.

As he dropped his bags on the floor, he wheeled himself over to the mattress, pulled himself out of the chair, laid down, and fell asleep.

He had the dream he often did: he dreamed of surpassing his boss, and degrading him to the point he becomes his own personal foot-rest.

He awoke to the feeling of a shoe in his ribs, he looked up, and Kageyama was standing over him in his night clothes, "Get up idiot," he said, "Its nighttime, time for you to start navigating."

Rock hoisted himself into his wheelchair, and down to the elevator.

As he exited the elevator, the captain of the yacht smiled as Rock wheeled himself in, "Welcome to the bridge wheels," he said, "You the navigator?"

"Yep," Rock said, "You have a sextant?"

"Right here," the captain said, "I don't know why they asked you here. We're perfectly capable of navigating the ship ourselves."

"Personal, I agree," Rock said, "But we must humor the boss."

Rock wheeled himself out onto the deck, and breathed in the fresh air, he took a look through the sextant, and by the position of the stairs, he could easily tell they were somewhere in the South China Sea.

Rock pulled out one of his cigarettes and ignited it as he looked over to see a large tanker moving up on the left of the boat.

Rock leaned back in his seat, removed the cigarette, and exhaled before heading the roar of a smaller engine.

He looked around, but saw nothing before shrugging, and putting the cigarette back in his mouth.

He relaxed just before feeling the large bore of a 12-gauge shotgun press against his left temple, "You got another one of those," a deep male voice said from above him.

Rock moved his eyes to look up and see a 6'4" heavily muscled bald African-American male with a black goatee wearing military fatigues, US military Jungle boots, a flak jacket, and a pair of sunglasses with leather side-shades holding a Remington 870 Marine Magnum shotgun to the side of his head.

Rock reached into his left shirt pocket, pulled out one of his cigarettes, and held it out to him, "No charge," he said.

"You got a light," he asked.

"That comes at a price," Rock said.

"What," the man asked as he pressed the shotgun further against his skull.

"Your name," Rock said.

"Name's Dutch," he said, "Now, you got a light?"

Rock pulled his Zippo lighter out of his pocket and held it out to Dutch who lit the cigarette in his mouth.

A woman about five foot five with a mixed Asian-Caucasian skin tone and a burgundy-colored hairstyle that was done up in a loose ponytail that wore Vietnam-style jungle boots, cut-off denim shorts, a black crop-top, and black fingerless gloves.

In her hands were two nickel-plated Beretta 92FS pistols with extended barrels and ivory handles.

"Secure this one," Dutch said as he tapped Rock on the back of the chair.

The woman walked up to Rock, knelt next to him, and looked up at him before pointed at his cigarette, "You got another one of those," she asked.

Rock pulled out his pack, and opened the box, "You got the name," he asked.

"Revy," she said as she took one of the cigarettes, "Got a light," Rock picked up his Zippo lighter, and handed it to Revy, as Revy lit the cigarette, "You got a name yourself?"

"Rock," he said.

"What up with the wheelchair," Revy asked, "You paralyzed or something?"

"Yes," Rock said, "Yes, I am."

"Sucks for you," Revy said as Dutch walked onto the deck, carrying duffle bags full of what appeared to be jewels and money.

"How much," Revy asked as she looked up at Dutch.

"About half a mil," Dutch said, "Now come on, let's get out of here."

"Ok," Revy said before grabbing Rock, "But first," she then put the Beretta to Rock's head, "A little extra money shouldn't hurt."

"We don't have room for extra baggage," Dutch said.

"Come on Dutch," Revy said, "A little extra shouldn't hurt," she then stood behind Rock's chair, and pressed the barrel of her Beretta into his back, "You so much as breathe wrong, and I'll kill you."

 _Guess what happens_ …


End file.
